


The Angel Line

by FancyTrinkets



Series: Ineffable Audioerotica [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Masturbation, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Apocalypse, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Silly, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 13:51:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20489930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyTrinkets/pseuds/FancyTrinkets
Summary: The one in which Aziraphale purchases and listens to a pornographic audiobook that just so happens to be narrated by Crowley.Aziraphale cringed and covered his face. This was going to be awful, and also thrilling, and he wasn't sure what he ought to be feeling about it, but there was a definite sense of vicarious shame.





	The Angel Line

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Непостижимая аудиоэротика](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22744963) by [Reya_Dawnbringer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reya_Dawnbringer/pseuds/Reya_Dawnbringer), [WTF Good Omens 2020 (team_Good_Omens)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/team_Good_Omens/pseuds/WTF%20Good%20Omens%202020)

> Another reading of this one is available! Go listen to it at [Drunk Storytime with Quefish - The Angel Line by FancyTrinkets](https://youtu.be/XtbI6o5vblw)

_A.D. 2006—_

Aziraphale found the first one quite by accident. A customer had inquired about audiobooks and, _goodness, no_, he didn't have any of those. 

"Well, why not?" The customer had asked, sounding indignant.

He'd huffed at them. 

In response, the customer had the audacity to glare. So Aziraphale applied a small miracle, designed to hurry them out of his shop. While he really hated abusing his divine powers in that way, Heaven hadn't reprimanded him for it in decades. So he did it flagrantly and often. It did go a long way towards maintaining a peaceful atmosphere, at least where the customer base was concerned.

Later that evening, alone in his shop, he revisited the question of audiobooks. He had to admit, the rude customer had a valid point. Why _was_ he excluding them entirely? If stocking a few of them could save him from answering belligerent questions, perhaps they were worth a trial run. He could at least do some research online and see which of the classics had been recorded by voice actors with a solid background in theater.

Hours later, Aziraphale was hopelessly lost down an internet rabbit hole. He stared bleary-eyed at the screen, clicking links and closing pop-ups, mindlessly listening to audio snippets of terrible quality for titles he'd never even heard of.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, gently miracling away the eye strain. That felt much better. He'd been silly for even considering the matter of audiobooks. He glanced at the computer screen one last time to close the window and be done with it, when a particular book caught his attention.

It was among several items displayed on the page. This one stood out, not for the title or the cover image, but for the name of the voice actor. It had been recorded by a "C.J. Anthony."

Aziraphale added it to his shopping cart. 

And then, instead of removing it or letting it languish forever in the cart, he actually went through with it and completed the purchase.

It couldn't be Crowley, he told himself. The book would arrive in several days and it would be read by some perfectly normal human person who routinely voiced audiobooks in exchange for money. It would absolutely not be narrated by a demon for the purpose of some as-yet-unknown wiles. But, for the sake of being thorough in his Heavenly work, Aziraphale had felt duty bound to order the book and listen to it.

That was the story he was telling himself. Perhaps he even believed it a little. In truth he didn't get to rendezvous with Crowley as often as he would like — what with the whole opposite sides thing they had between them — and he missed his friend. The thought of hearing Crowley's voice narrating an entire book called _Martian Adventure Sabotage Danger Hour_ filled Aziraphale with the stirrings of an old, familiar emotion he always tried his best to ignore.

But, oh, Good Lord, the title was stupid.

When it arrived a few days later, he rolled his eyes at the cover after having unpackaged it. The illustration showed two rather strapping young people standing on the pockmarked surface of an asteroid with the darkness of outer space looming behind them. They were firing ray guns at each other. Aziraphale suspected this was not going to be a rousing work of literary genius. 

He set it aside for later, the evening perhaps, when he wouldn't feel as silly about this as he did in the sober light of day. 

Later that night, he poured himself a tall drink and settled into a comfortable armchair. He'd pulled an old walkman from the lost and found box at the back of his shop. The batteries didn't work; they'd rusted in and developed a coating of salt that flaked onto Aziraphale's trousers when he examined the battery compartment. No matter. Miracles worked when batteries didn't. He popped the first cassette into the player and got started.

"Welcome to _Martian Adventure Sabotage Danger Hour_, written by Richard 'Dick' Longley, published in 1968, and read by yours truly. Uh... C.J. Anthony."

It was absolutely Crowley's voice.

Aziraphale cringed and covered his face. This was going to be awful, and also thrilling, and he wasn't sure what he ought to be feeling about it, but there was a definite sense of vicarious shame.

"Well, let's get started then. This book won't narrate itself..."

What Aziraphale hadn't expected was how funny it would be. He doubted that the book itself was written with comedic intent, but with Crowley reading it, inflecting it with nuance and peppering in sardonic asides to the listener, the experience was highly entertaining.

The main character was Roger, a law abiding space prospector trying to make it rich by mining asteroids. 

"Roger liked three things: a decent breakfast, his phaser blaster, and the law... " Crowley paused for a second and Aziraphale could imagine the arch of an eyebrow, the bemused smile, as he amended the text with what was obviously a commentary of his own: "Roger liked four things, actually, but we'll get to that part later on."

Roger was being hunted by a space mercenary, Zark, who'd been hired by a local cartel intent on claiming land and resources to augment their influence. 

"Zark was roguish, charming, and clever. He had dexterous fingers and enjoyed handling his blaster." That line was followed by a not-so-subtle snort of laughter from the narrator.

The story began with all the makings of a decent political drama, except that it was set on and around the planet Mars, and there were extended chase scenes involving spaceships that zipped and zinged whenever they went anywhere. Also, midway through, the author abandoned all pretext of caring about the larger political conflict when he stranded Roger and Zark together in an abandoned Martian dungeon, full of traps, puzzles, and ancient torture devices.

This narrative turn, combined with C.J. Anthony's running commentary, strongly suggested that this was about to become a rather dirty novel indeed.

"They'd been trapped for hours and now Zark had eaten the last of the egg and sausage cubes. Roger's only chance for a decent breakfast was ruined." Crowley cleared his throat and again addressed the listener. "Fair warning, at this point Roger's about to slurp down a very _indecent_ breakfast and if you're not here for that... why _are_ you here?"

"Oh, goodness," Aziraphale said. This wasn't really a demonic text at all, it was just a bit of harmless space adventure pornography. The angelic thing to do would be to stop listening right then and there. But Crowley's voice was so familiar and longed for, and it was practically teasing him along, urging him forward.

"Let's continue, shall we? When he saw that his meal was pilfered, Roger felt a hard heat inside him. That was the heat of anger, and it was rising..."

A fist fight broke out, which turned into a wrestling match as both men "toppled to the dungeon floor, slick with fury." Their wrestling turned increasingly suggestive and the scene concluded — as foreshadowed by its intrepid narrator — when Roger's hot mouth made intimate contact with Zark's throbbing member.

Aziraphale listened to all of it. He heard Crowley utter tawdry phrases like "swallowing his cock" and "suckling it deep" and "coming down his throat for nearly a minute," and for some baffling reason Aziraphale hadn't anticipated how shockingly aroused that would make him.

The next chapter was comprised entirely of sex scenes, each more vivid than the last. And midway through, Aziraphale couldn't stand it any longer. He miracled himself upstairs and into bed, where he could lie back, freed from the confines of his trousers, and stroke himself to the sound of Crowley's voice.

"Zark thrust the length of his cock into Roger, as deep as he could take it, as deep as it would go. Roger cried out with the hard, hot pleasure of it. Today he liked four things: his breakfast, a phaser blaster, the law, and a good hard seeing to..."

Crowley reading a dirty story wasn't even the part of it that turned Aziraphale on the most. Instead it was the withering asides, where Crowley talked directly to the listener while striking a tone of amiable derision.

"There you go, then, just what you wanted — a couple of spacemen fucking each other silly in a dungeon... There's about thirty-seven more pages of this drivel, so let's get through it, shall we?"

It was divine; it was awful. Aziraphale knew how ridiculous he must look, half naked in bed, fucking his own hand as Crowley spoke to him through a pair of flimsy earphones, the foam cracked and faded with age.

"'My turn now,' said Zark. 'I need you to put it in me. I need you to fuck me. Right. Now.'" The pace and intensity of the narration was picking up, Crowley's words came faster and harsher, and Aziraphale was breathing heavy.

"Oh, yes, Crowley," he whispered. He was imagining it right now: Crowley speaking only to him; Crowley here with him, beneath him, Crowley's mouth on his mouth and Crowley's hand around his cock, bringing him closer and closer to the inevitable.

"Yes," said Crowley, "just like that." He was still narrating Zark's dialogue, but his voice sounded distant. He seemed to be lost in the character, aching with it the same way Zark would have ached. "Yes, love, yes. I want it so much and I want you, right now, right here... my _angel_."

"Fuck," said Aziraphale as he came, spilling onto himself and onto the sheets. "Fuck."

Silence.

"All right, well, my error then," Crowley added after a moment. He sounded a bit sheepish. "That's not in the book, the, um, angel line... that just... that slipped in there somehow. You know, nevermind, let's keep going. I think we're coming up on the dungeon escape pretty soon, so, more space battles. That's fun."

"Oh," said Aziraphale. "Oh, Crowley, you poor thing."

He miracled himself clean, and continued listening until the book was done. Then he tucked the book jacket with its cassettes away on an upstairs shelf where Crowley would never see it. Later, perhaps, he'd search for other narrated works by C.J. Anthony. 

Like fine cuisine and alcohol, masturbation to the sound of Crowley's voice would just have to be another of his guilty indulgences. Aziraphale knew himself well enough to be certain; he was definitely going to do it again.

☆

_Seven days earlier—_

Under normal circumstances, when the online store received a purchase order, a deluge of annoying automated emails flooded the customer's inbox. The actual product was promised to ship within 3 to 5 business days, but that never happened. Crowley's store, operating under the pseudonym HonestSeller666, didn't have any real products in stock and certainly never shipped anything to anyone.

The funny thing was, he refunded the money almost immediately. The purpose wasn't to scam people, which would have been far too obvious and not very interesting. No, the real point was to identify the few truly belligerent customers and get them caught in a back-and-forth email war with an automated system. That was bound to rile them up something fierce, and they in turn would spread their discontent far and wide during their daily existence.

It was all working out really nicely — that is, until order #8037, placed late one night by a Mr. A.Z. Fell. 

Crowley stared at the screen of his laptop. 

"Aziraphale," he asked it, "what the Hell are you doing?"

Ordering a smutty audiobook, apparently — a smutty audiobook that didn't even exist.

Yet.

The paperback version was real enough. Crowley had tucked it away somewhere in his flat. He'd found it ages ago on a stack of discards outside the adult bookshop that operated next door to Aziraphale's. It was terrible. He'd read it, years ago, and laughed. And then he'd felt a bit sad afterwards and tried to remedy the mood by thinking of Aziraphale while feverishly wanking. 

And now he was scouring his flat, looking for it again, with a plan to actually record it as an audiobook and then send it to his best friend, with whom he was also secretly — or maybe not so secretly — in love.

It was a bad idea; he knew it, but he was going to go through with it anyway. Aziraphale needed this from him. And Crowley was nothing if not a giver.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has an affiliated prequel — [Martian Adventure Sabotage Danger Hour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24200998) — written by [doomed_spectacles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomed_spectacles/pseuds/doomed_spectacles) and wholeheartedly endorsed by me. Go read it! 
> 
> Also, no, there's no such book with a title like that! All books and characters that aren't Good Omens content are completely made up by me.
> 
> Lastly, part of the concept for this was inspired by a small portion of someone else's really delightful fanfic in which Crowley has a stash of bad pulp fiction — including pornographic space adventure novels — on his bookshelves. The fic is [A Better Idea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20247766) by copperbadge and it is really brilliant. I highly recommend it (along with all the other things I've got bookmarked.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Angel Line](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725985) by [Literarion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literarion/pseuds/Literarion)
  * [Drunk Storytime - The Angel Line by FancyTrinkets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985418) by [Quefish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quefish/pseuds/Quefish)
  * [Martian Adventure Sabotage Danger Hour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24200998) by [doomed_spectacles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomed_spectacles/pseuds/doomed_spectacles)


End file.
